


tumblr drabbles

by dilkirani



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: But mostly fluff, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Mostly Fluff, One Shot, maybe an angsty poem, post-ep, short things originally posted on tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/pseuds/dilkirani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>unrelated one-shots, drabbles, prompts, etc. originally posted on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. when there's no morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some post-the singularity fluffy fluff

If he’s honest, Fitz always imagined–when he was too weak to stop himself from imagining such things–that their first time would be so much more romantic. He’s had a lot of time to think about this moment, after all. Their line of work precludes the kind of leisurely courtship he might have wanted, but he still hadn’t thought it would be a stolen moment in a Romanian hotel room, frantically dressing afterwards and hoping Mack couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart over the noise of the Quinjet.

He doubts he’s fooling anyone, least of all one of his good friends. He might as well have “I JUST HAD SEX WITH THE LOVE OF MY LIFE” emblazoned across his face. What is he, a teenager? Actually, he’s pretty sure most teenagers could handle this turn of events with more finesse.

But still, it was perfect. Well, he thinks it was perfect. He doesn’t have much experience with this sort of thing, and he’s trying not to feel anxious about that. In another universe, maybe they could have curled up next to each other afterwards and talked. Maybe then he would know. He rubs his eyes, frustrated. This is why he’s not supposed to be thinking about this. They’re scientists, anyway. You just have to replicate the experiment until you reach satisfactory conclusions, and he is more than willing to increase their sample size.

Jemma comes back from chatting up Mack and settles down beside him. She starts giggling almost immediately, and Fitz can’t help but smile back.

She knocks his shoulder gently. “I can tell you’re overthinking it already,” she smirks at him. “What happened to not thinking about crossing the event horizon and just doing it?”

“I am not  _overthinking it_ ,” Fitz grumbles, taking her hand for no reason except that he can and it’s been the hardest-won privilege.

“Well,” she says, leaning closer and giving him a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I happened to thoroughly enjoy it, so stop whatever this is because we’re not going back from here.”

“Really?” he asks involuntarily, cringing at his own vulnerability. But he’d known he would be hers forever no matter what, and that was well before this shift in their relationship.

“Ugh, Fitz!” There’s no real frustration behind her warm eyes, though. “I seem to recall being quite vocal. Surely by now you’re pretty good at reading me.”

He blushes instantly and ducks his head, trying desperately to  _not_ conjure up images of an hour ago.

“Mack knows, by the way,” she says, interrupting his attempts to slow his breathing.

“Oh uh… yeah? And are you… you know, okay with that?” Fitz asks, a bit nervously. He has long ago given up attempting to mask his emotions about Jemma; it had gotten to the point where it took all of his energy trying to hide the depth of his feelings, and after the monolith he just couldn’t see the point anymore. But Jemma is a private person, and although she’d taken the lead he couldn’t help fearing she might regret going from friendship to a romantic relationship in 48 hours if the whole team started up with their inevitable teasing.

She smiles at him, so radiantly that any heaviness left in his bones dissipates at once. “Of course. He was quite sweet about it. You’re stuck with me forever, Dr. Fitzy, so why should I care who knows?”

Fitz is slightly mortified to feel tears building beneath his lashes, and Jemma seems to sense it because she kisses him, sweetly at first, and then more aggressively.

When they pull apart she laughs again, and he must have done everything right to deserve seeing her like this so often recently. “Fitz, we could have been doing this for years. We are such bloody idiots.”

He beams back at her, chasing her mouth once more before replying. “Yeah, but everything we’ve been through, it’s just made us stronger, hasn’t it? Maybe we had to go through all of that to be here with each other now.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “You’re such a romantic. And I love that about you, I really do. But I still think we’ve been bloody idiots because this part is pretty amazing.”

Okay, she didn’t say  _I love you_  directly, but that was close, and Fitz is not sure how much more his heart can take.

Jemma jabs him in the chest with her finger. “My bunk, after debrief.  _Immediately_  after debrief.”

Fitz is in trouble. He’s going to be in trouble for the rest of his life, and nothing has ever felt so good.


	2. saltwater cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The cure for anything is salt water: Sweat, tears, or the sea.  
>  Karen Blixen_

A warm, salty sea breeze is drifting in through the open window, the gauzy curtains fluttering gently. Fitz had been slightly (okay, a lot) terrified to be back in the ocean, but Jemma had held his hand the entire time. Between the dazzling wildlife and Jemma’s bright, happy eyes, he’d seen more than enough beauty to ease any residual panic. He’d always loved the ocean, and reclaiming it with Jemma had soothed an undefinable ache in this chest.

This is why he can’t stop himself from starting the conversation he’d always been too scared to have before– because he’s never been happier, and he wants to exorcise all of his demons. “Do you remember on Maveth, when you said you’d talk to me even after your phone battery died?”

Jemma turns around to face him, lining their noses up and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Of course. Unfortunately, I remember everything about my time on Maveth,” she says, although her tone is somewhat light.

Fitz winces and kisses her forehead, the scar above her eyebrow, her temple. “Sorry,” he whispers, closing his eyes and breathing her in. Sometimes he still wakes up choking on sand, losing her again and again.

Jemma nudges him carefully, directing his attention back to the conversation. “It’s okay, Fitz. I don’t mind talking about it with you. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking about your messages, wondering if… I mean, did you? Talk to me?”

“All the time. Honestly, I think I would have lost my sanity if I hadn’t talked to you. Sometimes it felt like your picture was the only thing anchoring me. Otherwise I just… it’s like, what if I dreamed everything up? I’d talk to you and feel safe and strong.”

Fitz nods against her, hand trembling on her hip.

“What’s the matter, Fitz? What brought this up?”

“It’s just, I did too. Talked to you, that is. When you were gone, before. At Hydra.”

Jemma links her fingers through his, pulling him tighter against her side. “It makes sense. We’ve talked non-stop since we were partnered together. We’ve always relied on each other. It’s logical that we’d imagine talking to the other under those circumstances.”

Fitz squeezes his eyes shut, resting his head against her shoulder. He knows he’s always been the weaker of the two of them and he can’t bring himself to look at her when he voices the only secret he’s still keeping from her. “It’s not the same, though. I talked to you, but you… you talked back.”

There’s a pause that can’t have been more than a few seconds but lasts his whole life.

“Oh,” she says, struggling to process his meaning. “So… like a… hallucination?”

Fitz pushes away from her slightly, rubbing his eyes with his hands and looking miserable. “I’m sorry for not telling you–” he starts, as Jemma chokes out, “Oh, Fitz, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what’re you apologizing for?”

“It’s just, I left. That was my fault.”

“No, Jemma, we’ve discussed that.” He faces her again, delicately pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not your fault. I just… I’m damaged. And I’m not as strong as you. I couldn’t handle it. That’s not your responsibility.”

Tears hang on Jemma’s lashes, and she reaches for him, kissing his face all over, more slowly than in the med pod but equally as desperate. “Oh Fitz, you’re not damaged. You’re so incredibly strong. I wish you could see that.”

“I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I was scared. And I just… I want you to know that we never… I mean, I know maybe I lost it, but I missed you so much. You helped me find words and encouraged me, that’s all. We never– I never would have made you–” Fitz flushes red, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering why his brain still chooses the most inopportune times to fizzle out.

“Never would have what?”

“I just don’t want you to think I made anything…  _happen_. I knew you didn’t feel the same way about me, we were just friends. My version of you was very realistic, I think. Bossy and everything.”

Jemma can’t help a burst of laughter, even though her heart is aching. If she could, she would hold Fitz inside her forever, keeping him safe even if it meant destroying the world. His soul is so pure it hurts.

“I know you would be nothing less than a perfect gentleman, hallucination or not.”

Fitz’s eyes are shimmering in the darkness. “But you’re not… upset?”

Jemma sighs, holding her hand to his chest, the reality of his heartbeat grounding her. “Of course I’m upset. I’m upset that our teammate almost killed us. I’m upset that I made you worse and I didn’t know how to fix things. I’m upset that we didn’t get proper counseling and we wasted time not being friends. I’m upset that I got transported to a nightmare planet right before our first date. But, Fitz, we’ve done the best we could. And I’m so proud of you, I really am.”

Fitz breathes in and out in controlled measures. He’s loved this woman since he was sixteen years old, and yet he still finds himself overwhelmed with how good she is.

“And, Fitz?” she hums, running a hand through his hair, down the side of his face, gently cupping his jaw.

“Hm?”

“I did feel the same way, back then. Everything was so confusing and hurt so much, I couldn’t process it at the time. But hindsight, you know.” Her breath hitches and she moves suddenly to bury her face in his shoulder, his arms instinctively tightening around her.

“It’s still really painful to think about all that,” she says, and he feels warm tears pooling on his skin. “I could’ve… we could’ve been so much happier.”

“Hey, Jem,” he says soothingly. “It’s okay. You’re right, we did the best we could. And now we’re doing better, yeah?”

They stare at each other for a moment, crying and smiling at the same time, and she pulls him into a kiss, promising him everything. Their tears combine in a saltwater rebirth and he’s not afraid because drowning in her won’t be a death at all.

“Yeah,” she says finally, whispering the words against his skin, marking him as hers forever and ever. “We’re doing just fine.”


	3. nights like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> agentcalliope on tumblr requested: if you could do Fitzsimmons and Daisy ficlet or Drabble or anything... maybe something like Daisy finding out Fitz and Simmons are together or them finding her after she ran away I don't care I just love Bus Kids!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-s3 finale, but without Daisy on the run just because.

Jemma slips into the kitchen, intending to make tea to share with Fitz as it looked to be another late night in the lab. She catches sight of Daisy hunched over a table, head in hands, unmoving. The light from the appliances barely outlines her still form or her gauntlets, which she’s carelessly thrown aside. That’s not like Daisy– she’s always been exceedingly careful with her uniform. But these days not much is like the old Daisy anymore.

Jemma hesitates, unsure if she’s intruding, caught between impulses. Before she can decide, Daisy lifts her head wearily, eyeing her friend in the doorway. 

“I don’t bite anymore,” she says, but it’s neither funny nor accusatory. It’s just a struggle to find a place where she’s allowed to exist.

“Oh, Daisy, I know,” Jemma replies, sitting down carefully beside her. She places a hand tentatively on her arm. Daisy had always been the demonstrative of the pair, and Jemma suddenly wishes Fitz had come for the tea instead. He had always had a gentle easiness with Daisy that she envies now.

Daisy breathes shallowly and stares at the two mugs Jemma had brought with her. “So how long have you and Fitz been dating?”

“Oh, uh…” Jemma stammers, completely thrown by the question. “It’s just that-”

Daisy cuts her off with a halfhearted wave. “C’mon, Simmons, give me some credit. I  _am_  a spy…” She pauses for a second. “And Mack told me.”

Jemma suddenly feels the guilt that she’s buried rising to choke her. What can she say? That they’d had sex in Romania right after Daisy, under Hive’s sway, had threatened Fitz’s life? That their first kiss after starting over had been amidst the destruction she’d poured down around them? How can she admit to planning a romantic vacation with the most precious person in her universe mere hours before Daisy lost the most precious person in hers?

“I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me,” Daisy says without waiting for Jemma’s reply. Her bravado is gone and she’s Skye again, the girl without a family, the girl who had been crushed by her own perpetual hope. “You two are my best friends. You didn’t think I’d want to know? Or that I’d be happy for you?”

“It’s not that, I promise.” Jemma tucks a strand of Daisy’s hair behind her ear, trying and mostly failing to keep tears from falling. “You were the  _first_  person I wanted to tell. We were trying so hard to, to find a cure, and I kept telling myself it would be okay, we’d get you back and then you and I could have a girls’ night like normal. But you were so hurt, and after Lincoln–” Jemma falters. She has barely said Lincoln’s name since he’d died, and she had certainly never mentioned it to Daisy. “It just didn’t seem appropriate,” she finishes lamely.

Daisy nods and then she’s crying, pulling Jemma into a crushing hug, shaking with the weight of her despair.

“Please forgive me,” she begs. “I know what I did to Fitz, I know you must hate me, but please–”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jemma soothes.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.”

Jemma holds her close, trying to keep the pieces of her friend together in her arms, but she doesn’t have the strength. She remembers all the times their world has collapsed around them and wonders if this is the moment they’re finally too weak to dig themselves out of the rubble.

+++

Fitz returns with the popcorn, tossing Jemma a pillow and settling under the blankets before starting the movie.

“I invited Daisy,” he says. “She said maybe some other night.” Jemma’s heart swells at how hard Fitz has been trying for their friend, but she worries that Daisy was telling the truth when she said she couldn’t forgive herself.

Ten minutes into the movie they hear a tentative knock at the door and pause to look at each other, surprised.

“Come in,” Fitz calls.

“Only if you two are decent,” Daisy returns, her voice still softer than it used to be, but with a hint of her old self shimmering beneath the surface.

Jemma scoffs and Fitz groans. “Shut up and come in,” he says, and Daisy opens the door slowly, hands comically covering her eyes. Jemma throws a pillow at her and Daisy yelps.

“Ladies, ladies,” Fitz says, mock placatingly. “Can we please act like adults here?”

Daisy and Jemma eye each other and Fitz immediately retracts, hands up. “I mean, obviously that was a joke, of course I think very highly of both of you,” but it’s too late. They descend upon him, tickling him mercilessly until he’s begging them to stop, promising to do all their chores for weeks.

Out of breath, Jemma curls up to Fitz’s side as Daisy sprawls on the end of the bed. “Mind if I watch the movie with you?” she asks without making eye contact.

“Okay, but you’re not allowed to criticize our selections. Next time you can choose.”

Daisy glances up almost shyly, as if the offer of  _next time_  were a gift she couldn’t imagine ever deserving. “You two aren’t going to spend the whole movie criticizing the science again, are you?”

“Er…”

Daisy groans but pulls a bag of gummies from her jacket pocket, tossing them at Fitz. He happily tears into the package as Jemma starts the movie up again and hands Daisy the popcorn bowl. They’ve been making it to Daisy’s specifications for weeks, hoping that some day she would be around to notice.

Jemma would give anything to believe they’re not irreparably broken. Nights like this, tucked between her best friends and laughing so hard her chest hurts, she finds she can.


	4. postcards home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> agentcalliope on tumblr requested: if you could do Fitzsimmons and Daisy ficlet or Drabble or anything... maybe something like Daisy finding out Fitz and Simmons are together or them finding her after she ran away I don't care I just love Bus Kids!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-season 3 finale

Fitz walks back towards his new, shared bunk with Jemma. Weariness has settled deep within his bones, but the thought of cuddling up with his girlfriend immeasurably lightens his steps.

He opens the door gently and sees Jemma sitting on the floor next to the bed, head resting against the nightstand.

“Jemma? Are you okay?” he asks as he immediately lowers himself next to her. She instinctively curls into him, moving her head to his shoulder and breathing out slowly. She wordlessly hands him a postcard, and he turns it over in his hands. The picture on the front is of a spring Paris scene, almost gaudy in its cheer, but there’s no message on the back.

“It’s from Daisy,” she says, and he can hear the thickness in the back of her throat.

“How do you know? There’s nothing on here. We haven’t heard from her in weeks.”

“I know it’s her. It was just sitting on the bed when I came in. And look–” she points to the corner. “The flowers, they’re daisies. It’s her.”

Fitz studies the postcard, running his fingers along the edges carefully. “But even if it’s from her, how’d it get here? And what does it mean?”

Jemma shrugs. “Maybe she misses us too,” and then suddenly she’s shaking with grief. Fitz sets the postcard down and helps Jemma to her feet, gently tucking her into their bed. “Shhh, Jemma, it’s okay. If it’s from her, that means she’s okay. We’ll see her again soon.”

“We don’t have a way to get a message back to her,” Jemma cries. “What if she thinks we don’t care?”

“Of course she won’t think that. We’re her family, yeah? She just needs time to figure stuff out on her own.” Fitz pauses, then grabs a pen Jemma had been using to make notes in the latest article she’d been reading before bed. He bites the end, considering, and then carefully writes out on the back of the postcard:  _Paranormal Activity, mandatory viewing, Wednesday at 21:00 EST._

Jemma quirks an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “She’ll know it’s us. Maybe we can all watch together.”

Jemma scoffs. “She’ll know it’s  _you_. I wouldn’t watch that!” She takes the pen from his hand and adds her own note underneath:  _Alternately, Pride and Prejudice. You know which version._

Satisfied, she caps the pen and carefully sets the postcard against a vase of flowers. It stays there for days until one afternoon it’s vanished. A week later a new one appears in its place.

“You know, we live on a super secret base. Should we be worried that someone can apparently enter our bedroom at will?” Fitz asks wryly, as he analyzes the latest postcard for a clue. An adorable capuchin is peering over a tree branch and he can’t hide his delight.

“Probably,” Jemma replies, snatching it from him eagerly. “But to be honest, that seems like the least of our problems.”

“I think…” Fitz says slowly, “this means I won.”

“What? Won what?” Jemma has no idea what he’s talking about, but her instinct is to disagree if she’s being accused of losing at anything.

“She watched  _Paranormal Activity_. That’s why she sent a postcard she knew I’d love.” Fitz smirks and Jemma huffs, scrunching her face as she thinks of something to write on the back.

This goes on for months, until one day a postcard arrives featuring Big Ben, the hands of the clock positioned at 11:00. In Daisy’s unmistakable handwriting:  _Tomorrow, if you can. Please don’t say anything._

Fitz and Jemma exchange a look. “What if it’s a trap?” Jemma asks at the same time Fitz worries, “Coulson will be furious if he finds out. They’ve been searching for her for ages.”

They reach a conclusion without speaking: Daisy, for them, has always been the little sister they would spoil and protect forever. They leave to requisition a quinjet.

++

Fitz and Jemma sit on a park bench, having decided that Daisy would be able to find them. Fitz’s leg is bouncing nervously and Jemma has his hoodie wrapped tightly around herself. They simultaneously stop breathing at 11:00, but nothing happens. Jemma glances around worriedly at ten after as Fitz reassures her that Daisy’s never once been on time. At 11:30, Jemma feels tears prickling at the back of her eyes, wondering how long they can wait.

And then she’s standing in front of them, looking nothing like they’d expect and yet still Daisy all the same. She has a hard edge about her, but when she meets their eyes she seems to crumble in front of them.

“Please come back, Daisy,” Jemma begs. “We miss you so much.”

“Coulson would let us get a dog if you came back, I just know it,” Fitz adds.

Daisy laughs, resting her head on Jemma’s shoulder and holding onto Fitz’s hand tightly. “I want to, but I just… I can’t, not right now. I can’t explain what’s happening, but I need to be away from SHIELD right now. I promise when it’s safe for everyone, I’ll come home.”

Neither Fitz nor Jemma say anything, but hearing Daisy refer to coming back as coming home gives them more hope than they’ve had for awhile.

++

Three weeks later, a postcard is propped up on the pillows of their carefully made bed– a little beagle-mix puppy with his head tilted, an adorable picture of confusion.

“Is this a hint then?” Fitz asks, holding up the postcard. “I kind of wanted a big dog, but I suppose that’s not really fair since we live in an underground base and all.”

Jemma grabs his hand, swinging him around giddily. “Let’s go talk to Coulson!”


	5. lessons

her mother says be smart, be kind, be brave  
her father says be careful, i believe in you  
they don’t warn her about betrayal  
about viruses waiting to shock the life from her  
they don’t hold her when she cries, when she falls,  
when she drowns  
they don’t tell her that her heart will break  
and it will break badly, it will shatter  
ashes dusting the ocean floor  
porcelain crushed on a blue planet  
blue as her sorrow  
blue as the eyes she’s afraid to covet  
they don’t remind her that sometimes  
you can get everything you desire  
and it’s still not enough  
like the taste of him turning to copper in her mouth  
her parents’ love is a safe, suburban love  
how could they have known?  
she loves with a fierceness she can’t contain  
she will hold on, hold on tight until there’s nothing left  
until every atom of his is stolen from her grasp  
she wishes her parents had said:  
love is the most beautiful thing in this world  
but it will destroy you  
she takes his hand,  
thinks he’s always been her inevitable,  
thinks she never would have listened anyway


	6. Fitz gets a monkey! *not exactly

Coulson indicates the chair in front of his desk and Fitz quickly takes a seat. “Er, is this about that report you asked for? Because I’m almost done, I just needed to run some specs–”

“I’m stepping down as Director,” Coulson cuts him off, waving a hand in the air almost nonchalantly.

“You-you sir, what?” Fitz shakes his head quickly, at a loss. This was not how he imagined their impromptu meeting starting. “Is this… is this because of Daisy? Are you  _sure_?”

Coulson sits down heavily in his chair and for the first time Fitz notices how weary he appears, the lines in his face mapping out every devastation. “I haven’t decided this lightly. This year has taken a toll on all of us. I’ve done things… I’ve made some decisions that I have to live with.”

Fitz looks down uncomfortably, unsure of what Coulson wants or needs to hear from him.

“But,” Coulson continues, and the forced cheer in his voice causes Fitz’s head to tilt in confusion. “That’s not why I’ve asked you here. I’ve decided to give out a few things while I still have the authority.”

He pauses, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I know we don’t… there’s a lot we don’t say around here. But I want you to know that I see the work you do, the work you’ve always done for us. I see your loyalty. We’ve all had a rough year, but you and Simmons… what you two went through and the fact that you’re still here, working for SHIELD… it’s remarkable, it really is. I’d like to give you two something. Early birthday presents, if you will.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve already spoken with Simmons and her request is easy enough to fill. She said she only wanted a family room on the base for the two of you, so I’m having someone move your things this week.”

“She… she requested  _what_?” Fitz feels slightly weak in the knees, brain still trying to catch up to the sharp turn this conversation has taken.

Coulson’s eyes widen. “She didn’t mention that to you? I hope it’s all right.”

“Uh… I haven’t had a chance to see her since this morning. But no, no, of course that’s all right.” It’s a bit strange hearing your girlfriend wants to move in together from your boss, but he doesn’t mind. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like the lovesick fool he knows he’s always been.

“So, that leaves your gift. I have an idea in mind, but of course I’m open to suggestions.”

Fitz opens his mouth and is immediately silenced by a warning hand. “No monkeys.”

Fitz deflates. “Yeah, all right, of course. I mean, I suppose it’d be impractical. And a monkey deserves to be free, not on a secret base. I understand that. They’re not pets.” The disappointment in his face must have belied his words because Coulson gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“Would you like to see what I had in mind?”

“That might be helpful.” In all honesty, he can’t really think of a request to make of the director. Moving into one of the family rooms with Jemma sounds perfect, and other than being able to take more vacation time, there’s not too much else he wants at the moment. What he really wants, safety for his friends, to have Daisy, Lincoln, Hunter, Bobbi, and everyone else they’ve lost back–those are desires to keep buried. Coulson has power, but he’s no genie.

Coulson pulls three manila folders from a drawer, fanning them out across his desk. “Now, I’ve put a lot of research into this. Temperament, ability to be happy under our… unique lifestyle conditions, whether or not they’re in a kill shelter, adorability obviously, et cetera.”

Fitz takes a deep breath, almost too afraid to hope.

Coulson carefully opens the files, each filled with information about a different shelter dog, along with pictures and Coulson’s own handwritten notes.

“Are… are you serious?”

“Fitz,” Coulson chuckles. “I think I’ve asked more from you than any employer has the right to. I’ve always felt…” he clears his throat. “I’ve always felt like our team was a family. You’ve been like a son to me.”

Fitz blinks back tears and leans forward, glancing at the puppies, reminding himself that he can’t have  _all_  of them.

“This one… he’s named ‘Monkey’?” Fitz asks, pointing to a little black poodle-mix. 

“Well, she, but yes.”

“I love her,” Fitz breathes out, already imagining taking the puppy on runs that he otherwise would find tedious, sneaking her treats after dinner, lounging around in the mornings while Jemma tries to hurry him along. Oh,  _Jemma_.

“I should uh… probably double-check with Jemma, just in case,” he says, staring wistfully at the picture, aware that he’s already fallen painfully in love.

Coulson smiles. “I might have spoken with her about this first. It was actually her idea. So, are we settled then?”

Fitz nods, bobbing his head up and down ridiculously. “Yes, sir, thank you.”

Coulson stands up, gesturing towards the door. “That will be all then, Agent Fitz. I’ll have someone pick Monkey up along with some supplies this weekend.”

Impulsively, Fitz throws his arms around the older man, squeezing him until he gasps. “Thank you so much. This is an amazing birthday gift.”

Coulson gently extricates himself from Fitz’s grasp. “You’re welcome. Now get back to the lab.”

“Of course. Can I just make a quick detour to–”

“Fine, fine, go find Jemma.”

Fitz bolts out the door, nearly colliding with May in the process. She watches Fitz slide down the hallway, rolling her eyes fondly.

“You’re such a soft touch, Coulson,” she says. “Admit it, you just want grandkids.”

Coulson shrugs. “One step at a time, May. One step at a time.”


	7. when progress is too much for a soft-hearted boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Academy-Era: what happens when Fitz finds out Jemma’s class project involves testing on chimpanzees.

“Fitz,” she pleads, “I can’t just  _not_  do the project! I’ll  _fail_.” Simmons lowers her voice on the last word, afraid that saying it too loudly will just draw the failure to her faster.

“Then fail!” he yells and she flinches back as if slapped. Fitz has always had a bit of a temper, but despite their many disagreements this is the first time he’s ever directed it at her. She’s surprised at how hurt and angry it makes her.

“Well, of course you think I should just fail,” she scoffs. “It’s probably what you’ve been waiting for. It’s your only chance to be number one in our class.” She knows the accusation is unfair and untrue but it tumbles out anyway.

“ _What_? That’s bloody ridiculous, Simmons, and you know it!” He clenches his fists at his sides and she feels her breathing getting more rapid. How  _dare_  he act like she’s some monster. Her work has the potential to save people’s _lives_.

She’s about to spit out another biting comment when all of the sudden his face just crumples and he’s crying. She gapes at him, swallowing back down everything she’d been ready to say because she’s never seen him cry before and she finds it’s wrenching something deep inside her gut.

“Fitz…” she starts, but he turns from her, wiping his eyes frustratedly and marching into his bedroom. He closes the door softly but the sound is deafening.

++

Simmons stuffs her laptop into her backpack and runs to the library. She stays there all night, researching until her eyes are bloodshot and the words on her screen are blurring together, but she has the outline of a solution and the euphoria shoots through her veins like a drug.

She returns to their flat at 7 am; his keys are lying on the counter where he dropped them the night before and his door is still closed.

“Fitz?” she calls softly, after she’s knocked at his door and received no reply. “Is it okay if I come in?”

Still no answer. She bites her lip, shifting from foot to foot but ultimately she can’t wait any longer. They’ve never fought before and she can’t handle it.

She opens the door carefully, tiptoeing in. He’s curled up on the edge of his bed, one arm wrapped around the stuffed monkey he’s had since he was a child. The one he claimed his mum forced him to bring. She’d rolled her eyes the first time she’d seen it, but now she’s heartbroken and she can’t quite figure out why.

“Fitz?” she says again, and this time he wakes, opening his eyes blearily. He seems to freeze when he sees her and her breath catches in her throat.  _Don’t yell at me, please don’t yell at me_  she thinks.

He sits up shakily and she’s oddly proud that he doesn’t even attempt to hide his stuffed animal. “I’m sorry,” he says, and she’s so thrown off by his immediate apology that she shoves all of her research into his face without speaking.

Fitz reads through her notes, forehead scrunching in concentration. “Is this…?”

“I stayed up all night,” she says in a rush, suddenly delirious from exhaustion. “Of course it’s preliminary, I need to run it by Professor Langly, but I’m pretty sure I’ve found a quite brilliant, if I may say so, way of getting the necessary results without testing on any animals, let alone the chimpanzees.”

He stares up at her with such gratitude that her heart stutters. “You did all this because I–”

“Well, you brought up a good point,” she waves her hand dismissively. “I mean…” They look at each other for a moment and she’s suddenly painfully aware that it’s so early and they’re so close and his curls are mussed from sleep and he’s  _so_ –

“I’m exhausted,” she says, shaking her head quickly. “I think I’m going to sleep for a few hours.”

She grabs her papers from him and bolts for the door.

“Simmons?” he calls tentatively, right before she can close the door.

“Yes?”

“When you wake up, would you want to get breakfast with me? My first class got cancelled.” He smiles at her hopefully and she sighs in relief, knowing their equilibrium has been restored.

“Sure,” she replies. “That sounds nice. See you in a few hours, Fitz.”

Simmons falls asleep instantly, clutching her research to her chest like a talisman, dreaming of chimpanzees and Fitz and something intangible, some unnameable feeling always just beyond her grasp.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: fs + "things you said too quietly"

“I can’t  _believe_  you, Fitz!” Jemma yells, slamming the door to their bedroom closed. He shrinks back—he’d known this was coming but he feels hollowed out, too weak to withstand Jemma’s hurricane rage.

She wipes at her eyes angrily and he can tell she’s furious at herself for crying right now. “How could you not tell me? I could have helped you! You could’ve… you could’ve  _died_.”

“But there wasn’t enough time! You wouldn’t have made it past the guards.  _You_  would’ve died.” He tries to infuse frustration into his voice because otherwise she will see this for what it always has been—him pleading with her to place more value on her own life than his.

“You don’t know that, and frankly it wasn’t your call to make. I’m your superior!”

Fitz gapes at her. “You’re pulling  _rank_  right now?” He and Jemma had assured the new Director that their relationship wouldn’t cause any conflicts with regard to their work or her promotion. The Director had grudgingly granted an exception to the reinstated rules—more likely, Fitz believed, to ingratiate himself with Jemma rather than because he bought their arguments. Still, he thought it had been working quite nicely and her remark burns.

“Of course I’m pulling rank,” Jemma hisses. “This is my call, and you knew the decision I would make, and you just…” She pauses, squeezing her eyes shut, struggling to calm her erratic breathing. Fitz wants nothing more than to just disappear. She was never supposed to find out in the first place. 

He scrubs his hands over his face, at a loss. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he honestly believes his relationship with Jemma is perfect. He’s never been happier; he feels like a whole person for the first time in his life. He’s even come to love the  _mornings_ , because she wakes him up with kisses like he’s her sleeping beauty. This fight is the first time he’s being forced to admit there are certain issues they’ve never addressed, and now he’s finding that he doesn’t even know how to start.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally; and he is, he is so sorry.

“No, you’re not,” Jemma sniffles, the fight draining from her body, leaving her limp and weak. She slides down the wall until she’s a boneless heap on the floor. “You think you’re sorry, but you’re not because you’d do it all over again, wouldn’t you?”

He sits next to her delicately—not touching but close enough to breathe her in, close enough to know she’s real.

“I  _am_  sorry for hurting you,” he says, twisting his hands in his lap. “And you’re right, but I… I can’t stand the thought of putting you in danger. I know it’s our job and it’s not my right but I just…” He sighs, frustrated with himself for being unable to articulate the painful clawing inside his chest.

“I’m trying,” he says softly. “I really am. But today I… I kept thinking of you on Maveth. I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”

Jemma palms the tears from her cheeks shakily. He wants to reach out and do it for her but he’s afraid she’ll jerk away from him and he can’t take that right now.

“Don’t you think  _I_  remember my time on Maveth? Don’t you think it destroyed  _me_  to spend months talking to your picture? I don’t want to feel that way ever again either.” She wraps her arms around herself, shivering slightly.

They sit in relentless silence until Jemma pushes herself off the floor and crawls into bed, drawing the comforter tightly around herself.

Fitz blinks slowly, untethered. He changes into his pajamas, his heart breaking at how quiet and fragile they are. He grabs his pillow and turns to leave, but she reaches for him, her fingers gliding down his arm to his wrist, barely grazing his pulse, connecting his heart to hers with the lightest of touches.

“Where are you going?” she whispers.

“I thought… maybe you wanted some space from me. I can sleep on the couch.”

Jemma sighs. “Of course I don’t want space from you. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” She smiles at him tentatively and he has to choke back a sob.

Fitz slides under the blankets and pulls her tightly against him, holding her so close that her inhalations seem to fill his own lungs with oxygen. He kisses her temple, soothing the ache he knows hovers beneath the surface. His brain is spinning excruciatingly fast and he still can’t come up with a solution.

“I meant it when I said I’m not strong enough to live in a world without you in it. I don’t know what to do,” he finally admits.

Jemma doesn’t respond and he can feel her body twitching slightly against him like she always does in sleep. He blinks rapidly and tears pool into her hair, sparkling in the lamplight. Maybe they love each other too much. Maybe love, on some level, can only be selfish.

“I promise you I’m trying,” Fitz sighs as he turns the light off and wraps himself back around her. He focuses on controlling his breathing, closing his eyes and letting everything reduce down to the feel of her skin against his.

“In my nightmares I’m always losing you, Jemma. I can’t wake up to that life again.” He says this quietly, too quietly. Maybe he hasn’t spoken at all. He knows he won’t be able to confess to her in the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: FS + 12 things you said when you thought i was asleep

Jemma hears the increasingly distressed cries through the baby monitor and groans into her pillow. She knows, logically, that she has survived far worse than sleepless nights caring for her infant daughter but she can’t quite recall anything beyond this moment.

It’s Fitz’s turn to get up so she tries desperately to fall back asleep. She catches his soft footsteps and gentle murmurs drifting through the monitor as if from a great distance.

She’s still awake, hovering infuriatingly on the precipice, but when Fitz settles carefully back down in bed and whispers, “Jemma?” she doesn’t respond. She adores him, she really does, but the newest surprising thing she’s learned is if they’re both awake from taking care of the baby, he could spend hours just  _talking_  to her. This is the same Fitz who had to set multiple alarms his entire time at the Academy, who probably only ever woke up early on the Bus because she made him tea. Now, somehow, sleep deprivation isn’t as hard on him as it is on her.

“Good,” she hears him murmur quietly. “We don’t want to wake mummy, do we? You haven’t been letting her sleep much.”

Jemma peeks one eye open very cautiously. She can barely see anything in the dark, just the outline of Fitz lying in bed next to her, their daughter curled on his chest.

Oh,  _Fitz_. He is a ridiculously soft touch–-that had been true before her pregnancy but had increased exponentially since parenthood. She’s already well aware of her future role as household disciplinarian.

“I love you so much,” he says. “I can’t wait to take you all over the world. Your mum and I have seen some amazing things. I wouldn’t have gone half those places if it weren’t for her. We’ll stick with this planet for now, though, okay?”

Jemma swallows down her tears, frustrated at how emotional motherhood has made her. Or maybe she was always this emotional, just better able to hide it. She really doesn’t know anymore.

“It’d be awfully nice if you would sleep a bit more through the night though. Your mum’s so tired and stressed and I’m worried I’m not doing enough. I know it’s not your fault, but let’s just stay here really quietly for the rest of the night, okay? And if we can keep that up, maybe I can have a word with her about a puppy. She’s not actually as strict as she first appears. I think between the two of us we could probably convince her, if we’re really good.”

Fitz is gently rubbing one hand in soothing circles along Maggie’s back. She’s stopped fussing and is instead making the softest sighs, burrowing into his chest. He leans back, closing his eyes and reaching for Jemma with his free hand.

His fingers delicately graze her hip and he breathes out, “I love you both more than anything in the world.”

That’s it. Jemma’s carefully hidden sniffles transform into full blown sobbing and Fitz jerks up, causing Maggie to wake and start wailing again too.

“Jemma, what’s wrong? I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I just thought she would sleep better in here.” He manages to pull Jemma to his side, trying to comfort both her and their crying daughter. 

Jemma buries her face into his shirt, breathing in his scent mingling with Maggie’s mellow baby fragrance. “Why are you so perfect? It’s  _too much_.”

Fitz laughs before he can stop himself and Jemma glares at him, although she’s reasonably sure he can’t see her in the absent lighting.

“Now I  _know_  you’re sleep deprived. You’ll be so embarrassed when you wake up tomorrow and remember you called me perfect.”

Jemma wraps her arms around him and Maggie, whose pitiful mewling has begun to quiet. It’s so strange, that she can fit her entire universe into an embrace. She suddenly finds herself thinking, oddly, of Maveth and how despite everything she’s actually grateful for her time spent there. It made her fierce and impossibly strong and she worries she’ll need every bit of that to protect Fitz and their daughter. They’re the two most hard-won, precious things in her life, and the cosmos is out of its bloody mind if it thinks she’s ever letting go.

“I love you so much,” she says, dizzy with exhaustion. Fitz places the gentlest kiss on her forehead and it breaks her heart.

“I love you too. Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll make us all some pancakes for breakfast.”

He lays Maggie carefully in the space between them and they both curl around her like teardrops. Jemma falls asleep holding Fitz’s hand, lulled by the sound of her tiny family’s steady breathing. 

In the morning she wakes drained but not embarrassed.  _After everything_ , she thinks, trailing her fingers along his jawline,  _how could I not know you were perfect?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: Yes 'tis I, the daisyfitz BROTP queen, here with a request for number 8, "things you said when you were crying" :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some old school fitzskye, set at the beginning of s2.

Skye hears a fist slam against a wall in the lab and she glances at Trip nervously. “Do you think we should–?”

Trip sighs, his perpetually sunny expression clouding over. “Nothing we say ever seems to help.”

“I know, but it’s  _Fitz_.” How can she just stop trying?

Skye leaves a worried Trip on the threshold, stepping into the lab more assuredly than she really feels.

“Fitz,” she says firmly, resting a hand on his shoulder. He seems to soften beneath her touch before his eyes snap up to her and he flinches back. “Come with me.”

“I-I-I don’t need, I need to-to,” he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration, his breath coming in tight, angry puffs.

Skye doesn’t wait this time. She pulls him forward, leading him out of the lab, ignoring his stammering protests.

Fitz’s ears are burning bright red and Skye is a little shocked at herself and a lot worried about his reaction.

She pushes him unceremoniously onto her bed, shutting the door to the room and staring him down, arms crossed protectively in front of her. Fitz opens and closes his mouth before stuttering out, “Wh-what the  _hell_?”

“Let’s take a breather, okay? You’re just getting more frustrated with yourself and taking it out on everyone else.”

Fitz glares at her and she finds she doesn’t mind the dangerous anger flashing across his face. Anger she understands. Anger she can fight.

But his fury fades almost as quickly as it appears, replaced with the stunned, lost look she’s seen too often. He’s the ghost of her friend and she doesn’t know how to approach him anymore. Her face softens and if anything that seems to set him off.

“Just stop, Skye,” he hisses.

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like… like…”

“Like what, Fitz?” she whispers, practically begging.

His face freezes, his expression caught in the memory of another conversation. “Like I’m gonna break.”

Skye sits down at his side, wanting to hug him but uncomfortably aware of their distance. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not handling this… everything… as well as I should be.  _Please_ , just tell me–”

“I hate my brain,” Fitz cuts her off, as if he’s not even listening, and she’s startled to see tears streaming down his face. 

“Fitz,” she gasps. “Please don’t say that.”

“No, I do,” he insists. “It’s… it’s  _useless_. Can’t do things that were so sim-sim,  _easy_  before.” He pauses before confessing his other secret: “It’s why she left.”

Skye’s throat constricts. “Simmons? That’s not true, Fitz, you know it’s not.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “But Fitz, you didn’t see her when you were in the coma. I don’t think she slept for nine days. She was always at your side and she was researching every possible outcome and treatment plan. I’ve never seen her look so… scared. I’m upset at her too, for leaving us. But we don’t know what happened. Maybe she just couldn’t take everything anymore?”

Fitz shrugs, looking down and pressing his thumb into his shaking hand.

Daisy knocks her shoulder playfully against his, trying to ease the tension always at the surface. “You know, it’s rude as fuck to say you hate your brain when you’re still a million times smarter than me.”

Fitz looks up, blinking slowly and she smiles at him, genuinely smiles. 

He shakes his head and she decides to just go for it, hugging him to her, holding him so close she can feel his stubble against her face, his arm spasming against her side. 

“You’re my best friend, Fitz,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help. But the fact that you’re still here and alive… please believe me when I say I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t made it.”

Fitz sniffles against her, burying his head into her shoulder and her heart breaks. They sit there for so long she thinks she might fall asleep, lulled by Fitz’s even breathing.

He finally pulls back, wiping the tears from his face with the sleeves of his cardigan.

“Thanks, Skye,” he sighs. “I’m-I’m okay. I should probably be uh… getting back.”

“Oh, wait,” she says, jumping up. “I almost forgot, I bought you a late birthday present on our last mission out.”

Fitz leans forward, intrigued, while she pushes through piles of clothes at the back of her closet.

“Er, sorry,” she calls. “Haven’t had a chance to clean in awhile… oh, here it is!” Skye stands up triumphantly, holding a rather large stuffed monkey out to him. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Fitz narrows his eyes at her. “I’m not a  _child_ , Skye.”

She refuses to look hurt, instead shoving the toy into his arms. “I know you’re not a child, Fitz, but let’s be real… you’re never getting a monkey lab assistant. And he’s so cute! And feel, so soft and cuddly!”

Fitz brings the toy up slowly, squeezing it to himself carefully as if performing an important analysis. “It is very cuddly,” he relents after a moment and Skye sighs in relief.

Fitz runs his fingers along the monkey’s face. “What’s his name?”

“Well, I was waiting for you to name him, obviously.”

Fitz nods seriously. “I’ll th-think about it. Can’t rush these things.” He looks up at her then, smiling shyly, lashes still wet. He hugs the monkey, folding over himself and looking so very small. 

Skye sits next to him gently, leaning her head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Fitz. I promise.”

He doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t know if he even has it within himself to believe her. But she can feel his warm breath in the space between them and his whole body relaxing imperceptibly and for now that’s enough.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: Fitzsimmons + 15 “things you said with too many miles between us” / set during sad Maveth times.

“I love you.” It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to give life to the words. He had been hoarding them like precious jewels because he was afraid of what might happen once he set them loose into the world.

But he had admitted it, to a terrorist even. So now he can admit it to her. And it hurts so much more than he’d feared possible, knowing that he’s whispering these words to a ghost. To someone so far away that “miles” seems a laughably insignificant unit of measure, a term that has lost all meaning. 

Fitz says “I love you,” expecting and receiving no response. Strangely, that’s okay. Maybe he’s too late anyway. Maybe a thousand scenarios have occurred-–each one with an ending he refuses to acknowledge. Maybe when,  _when_ , she finally hears him, his cowardice and his distance and his fear will have ruined any chance they had. But she deserves to know all the same. She deserves to know he loves her in every way he can. She deserves to know that without her this world, with all the poetry and beauty it contains, is just another rock drifting through space. And it’s such an empty, lonely space.

When he has no tears left, he repeats the simplest of his truths over and over like a mantra until it becomes easier, until the words match up to the rhythm of his breathing. 

Because loving her has always been as natural as breathing, so telling her should be too.

++

Jemma wakes first in the mornings (or afternoons or evenings). Time has so little meaning when her nights blur into even longer nights. 

She turns in her cot until she can reach her phone, grazing it delicately, like she’s actually feeling soft skin beneath her fingers. 

“Good morning,” she whispers, closing her eyes and praying the image she conjures is close to reality. Now that she’s lost the ability to view pictures and videos when she needs to, she worries constantly about forgetting his face and about what that means for her future. 

“I love you,” she says softly, finally, wondering if this is a secret she will carry alone until she dies. The thought breaks her heart because he deserves to know how deeply and completely he’s loved. Now she understands missed chances in a way she never could have before and it’s a knowledge that suffocates her.

She has lost hope in everything else, but somehow she clings to this fantasy: that despite the unbearable distance between them, he can sense her words and he is keeping her truth safe. She is not saying “I love you” to an endless void. She is saying it to him, her favorite word, her favorite everything, and if only he knew, it would be enough.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Mack rescue a kidnapped/tortured Fitz.

Jemma runs into the room before Mack can stop her and pulls the trigger before she can stop herself. The sound is deafening and her lungs are on fire, but her hands are steady as she sweeps the nearly-empty cell. Mack might have yelled an all clear and he might have stopped to check on the man she shot, but all of Jemma’s senses are honed in on a single chair, on one bloodied and tortured body. She barely recognizes him.

Fitz’s eyes track her movements much too slowly. She’s so numb and she’s started shaking, but she plasters on what she thinks is an encouraging smile.

_You’re alive_ , she thinks,  _you’realiveyou’realiveyou’realive_. Deep down she’s been preparing herself for the worst and now she knows that she wasn’t prepared at all. She wasn’t even prepared to see him like this.

She wants to hug him tightly, map his body with her hands, but it’s clear he’s in excruciating pain. His eyes are so very dim and she’s pulled back suddenly to a hospital bedside and a feeling she never wanted to relive.

“You’re okay,” she says as she carefully cuts the binding from his wrists. “It’s going to be okay.”

When she’s loosened all of his restraints and untied the gag around his mouth he sways against her and would have toppled out of the chair if Mack hadn’t suddenly appeared at their side to steady him.

“How’s he doing?” Mack whispers and she can sense the fear radiating from him, connecting and pulsing with hers like a living entity.

Jemma runs her fingertips as lightly as possible over Fitz’s body, fighting the urge to sob every time he hisses. “I think he has some broken ribs,” she answers. “He’s covered in bruising and some of these wounds are… he needs medical attention  _now_. You need to get something to carry him out. I’m not leaving him.” She says the last part fiercely, as if Mack would ever expect her to leave.

“Daisy said they’ve got the whole compound secured. I’ll grab a stretcher and medical supplies from the Zephyr, okay?”

“Hang in there, Turbo,” Mack says to the top of Fitz’s head where it hasn’t moved from Jemma’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

In the silence after Mack leaves, Jemma notices how labored Fitz’s breathing is. She tries not to think about the injuries she can’t tend to until they’re back on the Zephyr. 

“Don’t you  _ever_  scare me like that again, Fitz,” Jemma murmurs, kissing the very tip of his ear where she’s sure she can’t hurt him. 

The lack of response is so unlike her Fitz that Jemma presses a hand to his chest, needing above all else to feel that his heart is still beating.

“I was so… so sc-scared,” Fitz mumbles, and Jemma has to fight down the bile that rises in her throat when she imagines everything he’s been through in the past two weeks.

“I know,” she whispers. “But you’re safe now, I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” Maybe it’s not a promise she can keep, but she’s never been more determined. She might not be able to save everyone, but she  _will_  save him.

“… that I would-wouldn’t have the chance… to-to ask you,” he continues, as if he hasn’t heard her response. His face is still pressed into her shoulder, his breathing increasingly strained. She should tell him to stop talking but she’s so weak and his voice is the only thing saving her from her nightmares.

“Ask me what?”

Fitz seems to want to move but in the end he can’t. “Pocket,” he wheezes. “Take it, Jemma.” 

Tears blur her eyes and she wonders if he even has the capacity right now to remember the last time he begged her, always on the precipice of death, with those same words. She gently pats around the pockets of his pants and his jacket until she feels something in the inner pocket of his coat.

She pulls out a small black velvet box and she  _knows_. 

“No,” she says, shoving it back inside his jacket quickly, as if the box has burned her fingers.

“N-no?” Jemma knows exactly the expression he would have on his face if he had any strength left to look at her.

“ _No_ ,” she repeats firmly. “Not like this. Not when you’ve been  _tortured_  and I can’t even hug you afterwards and you’re about to be in the hospital for who knows how long. It doesn’t have to be romantic, Fitz, but you need to be  _well_ , okay?  _Please_. You just need to be well.” She can’t think about their relationship or what this means or even that she wants nothing more than to marry Fitz and have a party celebrating with all their loved ones. All she can think about is how close she came to losing him, how shattered her world has been.

Mack and a few med techs rush in with a stretcher just then and lift Fitz up as gently as possible. Jemma feels her stomach lurch and has to look away. She’s sewn up her own injuries without flinching, but watching Fitz’s bones slide unnaturally is like pressing down on the deepest wound.

They’ve started wheeling him out of the room before Jemma realizes she’s still crouched next to his chair, tense and nauseated. 

“Fitz!” she calls, rushing to catch up. She has to walk briskly to keep pace with the others’ long strides. “I’m going to say yes. You know that, right?”

His eyes catch hers and he smiles softly. It might be the weakest smile he’s ever given her, but it heals her soul all the same. She twines her fingers through his and this time she refuses to let go.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to this ficlet (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7851523/chapters/19884436 ) requested by agentcalliope on tumblr. She said the only way I could redeem myself was to give her a follow-up with “Daisy helping with fitz and then BUS KIDS.” This isn’t exactly what she asked for, but I tried!

Jemma steps inside her room, closes the door, counts to ten and then to twenty, breathing in and out carefully like Dr. Garner had taught her during their therapy sessions. Fitz had been in surgery for hours but everything seemed to go exceedingly well. She can’t help but be grateful they work for a legitimate organization again because the medical team in charge of Fitz’s recovery is world-class. Not even she could find anything to criticize. 

He’s sleeping now and probably won’t wake for awhile, so she’d decided to run back to their room and change. She should shower too—she’s sticky with his blood—but she can’t spare the time. Every minute she’s away from his bedside draws her inexorably back into a living nightmare. She worries it’s possible she never escaped. 

She’s just grabbed some clothes from the dresser when she hears the door open. Still running on adrenaline, she jumps and whirls around with her arms up until she sees Daisy in the doorway.

“Just me,” Daisy says softly as she shuts the door behind her. “I came to check on you.”

Jemma picks her clothes up off the floor. “I’m fine. I’m just getting changed and then I’m heading back to med bay.”

“I think you should rest a bit,” Daisy counters and Jemma swallows down the urge to snap at her. Daisy is only trying to help, as always, but her advice is very much unneeded at the moment. 

“I’m fine,” Jemma repeats, pressing a hand against her temple, a tic she’d picked back up during Fitz’s abduction. “I need to get back to Fitz.”

“No, you don’t,” Daisy argues gently. “He’s not going to wake up for awhile. I was just there and I talked to the doctors.”

“The doctors don’t know  _everything_.”

“Well, to be fair, they know more than you do.”

Jemma gapes at her and Daisy throws her hands up, conciliatory. “I didn’t come here to fight, Jemma. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Of course I’m  _okay_ ,” Jemma cries angrily before she can stop herself. “I wasn’t the one kidnapped and  _tortured_.”

Daisy steps closer, carefully removing the clothing from Jemma’s arms and leading her towards the bed. “You are, however, the one who spent weeks searching for your missing boyfriend without sleeping or eating. I know a few things about pushing yourself too hard.” She says this lightly, as if her arms aren’t still a patchwork of bruises.

As soon as she sits down on the soft mattress, Jemma feels all of the fight drain from her body, like someone has pulled the stopper from her. She leans against Daisy, who wraps an arm around her.

“Good,” Daisy says. “I didn’t want to have to quake you.”

Jemma laughs then, softly at first but then so hard she can’t breathe. She lies down on the bed, pulling Daisy with her until they’re nose-to-nose.

“Fitz proposed,” Jemma tells her, when she’s gotten her hysterics under control. She doesn’t know why she says it; it just spills out of her. “Well, sort of.”

“ _WHAT_?” Daisy shrieks, loudly enough that Jemma winces. Daisy grabs her hand. “Where’s the ring? Or are you two doing a nontraditional thing? ‘Cause that’s totally fine, too. Do you have any idea when the wedding will be? I mean, no rush or anything. Just wondered if you’d thought about bridesmaids or anything? Not that I have at all, that would be weird.”

Jemma bites her lip as Daisy rambles before halfheartedly cutting her off with, “I didn’t exactly say yes.”

Daisy’s mouth snaps shut and in one fluid motion she reaches behind her and proceeds to hit Jemma with a pillow. 

“Jemma.  _Freaking_. Simmons. I have worked  _too damn hard_  to get you two idiots together just to sit by and watch you throw it all away now!”

“Daisy, stop!” Jemma yelps, rolling away from her and her aggressive pillow attack. “Also,  _you’ve_  worked too hard? It’s my relationship!”

“Yeah, as if we’d even be here today if I hadn’t forced you to two together at every opportunity!”

“All right, all right,” Jemma says. “Agree to disagree on this one. But can you please stop hitting me? I didn’t say no forever, I just think we should wait until he’s, you know, healthy!”

Daisy narrows her eyes, analyzing Jemma’s face until she apparently decides that whatever she sees is acceptable. “Okay, that’s fair,” she nods. “But like… soon, right?”

For the first time, Jemma actually allows herself to think—really think—about the black box in Fitz’s jacket pocket and a silly grin spreads across her face. 

“Yeah,” she answers, feeling a blush rise on her cheeks. “I think soon.”

Daisy tackles Jemma back across the bed, squeezing her almost uncomfortably hard. “I am so happy and also unbelievably distraught that I have to keep this a secret for now.”

Jemma smiles, melting into Daisy’s embrace and letting herself contemplate her own happy ending, suddenly confident that Fitz is safe and secure and recovering.

Daisy tickles Jemma lightly. “Go take a shower, Jemma. You’re kinda disgusting.”

She sighs, picking up her clothes to do as she’s told, not giving Daisy the satisfaction of knowing she is now desperate for a shower and a fresh start.

“Oh,” she calls as she opens the door to the bathroom, “of course you’re going to be my maid of honor.” Jemma pauses, frowning. “Although Fitz might want you for his side. I have a feeling this could turn into a fight.”

Daisy clamps a hand over her mouth to hide a delighted squeal. “I’m a  _literal_  superhero, Jemma. I think I can handle being person of honor for both of you!”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Not your superpower, babes.”

Daisy tosses another pillow at Jemma which bounces off the door harmlessly. She means to leave to get some work done for Coulson but instead she stretches out on the bed, thinking about table centerpieces and party favors and whether or not she can convince Fitz to wear a kilt.


	14. when Jemma finds out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post 4x06 with Mack telling Jemma about Fitz's disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fitzsimmons network's coda challenge.

“Simmons,” Mack starts and then pauses, reaching a hand towards her shoulder. “ _Jemma_ —” And she knows. She knows from the way his mouth softens too carefully around her first name, the way his fingers tremble against her blouse. She knows from the way he’s staring at her, like she’s glass and he’s only ever been a sledgehammer.

She has stood up to her worst nightmares. She has faced Grant Ward, Hive, the new Director and the possibility of a jail sentence without flinching. But now her knees buckle without her consent and Mack rushes to catch her, cradling her so gently it feels like he’s channeling Fitz in an effort to comfort her in his absence.

“Is he—?” She won’t say the words. She  _can’t_.

“We don’t know,” Mack admits, tightening his arms around her as if he’s the only thing holding her together. And maybe he is. “We need your expertise. I don’t understand the science of it, but they’ve just… vanished.”

Her mind is spinning with everything she knows, every theory she should be working on right now. She will demand the Director’s time and she will bring Radcliffe on board. She will do  _anything_.

But what comes out instead of her already half-formulated plan is, “I was angry with him. I hadn’t completely forgiven him and he thinks… what if he thinks… But it’s not true.  _Mack_ ,” she sobs into his chest, needing to confess before the weight of it crushes her lungs. “I’ve never in over ten years stopped loving him, not for a second. What if he thinks I did?”

Mack runs a hand along her back and she can’t help feeling like a small child forced to hold onto an adult’s grief. “Of course he doesn’t think that, Simmons. Every couple fights. No one would  _ever_  think you two stopped loving each other. He was worried about you. No one knew where you were, and he was worried. That’s it.”

She nods against him, not entirely sure if she believes it but needing to accept his words if she’s going to start working.

“Hey,” Mack says, lifting her chin up and giving her a small smile. “We’re gonna get him back.”

Jemma tamps down the sickening voice inside her brain warning her that it’s already too late, that she’s already lost the only person she’ll ever truly love and she wasn’t even there and why didn’t she demand Mace let her make one bloody phone call before—

Mack hands her a handkerchief, always the gentleman in any situation. “Don’t tell my man Turbo I made you cry, okay?”

Jemma accepts it without smiling, breathing in and out evenly into the soft fabric while Mack continues rubbing her back. 

When she stands up, her legs are strong and steady and everything in her mind focuses on a singular goal, on the only thing in the universe that matters. She quickly presses the second speed-dial on her phone, speaking before Mace can get a greeting out. “I need to see you immediately. I’ll be in your office in ten,” she snaps, hanging up without realizing she’d forgotten to add her ever-deferential “sir.”

“Atta girl,” Mack says, and she allows herself one moment of softness, squeezing his fingers against her own before she strides out the door. She will be steel and grit and an endlessly consuming fire from now on, and she won’t fail. She refuses to fail.


End file.
